Bernard Cornwell - Enemy of God

We met him at our door. He bowed to Ceinwyn, then smiled at her. ‘Dear Lady,’ he said simply.

‘You are angry with me, Lord?’ she asked him anxiously.

He grimaced. ‘My wife believes I am, but no. How can I be angry? You only did what I once did, and you had the grace to do it before the oath was given.’ He smiled at her again. ‘You have, perhaps, inconvenienced me, but I deserved that. May I walk with Derfel?’

We followed the same path that I had taken that morning with Ceinwyn, and Arthur, once he was out of sight of his spearmen, put an arm about my shoulders. ‘Well done, Derfel,’ he said quietly.

‘I am sorry if it hurt you, Lord.’

‘Don’t be a fool. You did what I once did and I envy you the newness of it. It just changes things, that’s all. It is, as I said, inconvenient.’

‘I won’t be Mordred’s champion,’ I said.

‘No. But someone will. If it was up to me, my friend, I would take you both home and make you champion and give you all I had to give, but things cannot always be as we want.’

‘You mean,’ I said bluntly, ‘that the Princess Guinevere will not forgive me.’

‘No,’ Arthur said bleakly. ‘Nor will Lancelot.’ He sighed. ‘What shall I do with Lancelot?’

‘Marry him to Gwenhwyvach,’ I said, ‘and bury them both in Siluria.’

He laughed. ‘If only I could. I’ll send him to Siluria, certainly, but I doubt Siluria will hold him. He has ambitions above that small kingdom, Derfel. I’d hoped that Ceinwyn and a family would keep him there, but now?’ He shrugged. ‘I would have done better to give the kingdom to you.’ He took his arm from about my shoulders and faced me. ‘I do not release you from your oaths, Lord Derfel Cadarn,’ he said formally, ‘you are still my man and when I send for you, you will come to me.’

‘Yes, Lord.’

‘That will be in the spring,’ he said. ‘I am sworn to three months’ peace with the Saxons and I will keep that peace, and when the three months are up the winter will keep our spears stacked. But in the spring we march and I shall want your men in my shield-wall.’

‘They will be there, Lord,’ I promised him.

He raised both hands and put them on my shoulders. ‘Are you also sworn to Merlin?’ he asked, staring into my eyes.

‘Yes, Lord,’ I admitted.

‘So you’ll chase a Cauldron that doesn’t exist?’

‘I shall seek the Cauldron, yes.’

He closed his eyes. ‘Such stupidity!’ He dropped his hands and opened his eyes. ‘I believe in the Gods, Derfel, but do the Gods believe in Britain? This isn’t the old Britain,’ he said vehemently. ‘Maybe once we were a people of one blood, but now? The Romans brought men from every corner of the world! Sarmatians, Libyans, Gauls, Numidians, Greeks! Their blood is mingled with ours, just as it seethes with Roman blood and mixes now with Saxon blood. We are what we are, Derfel, not what we once were. We have a hundred Gods now, not just the old Gods, and we cannot turn the years back, not even with the Cauldron and every Treasure of Britain.’

‘Merlin disagrees.’

‘And Merlin would have me fight the Christians just so his Gods can rule? No, I won’t do it, Derfel.’

He spoke angrily. ‘You can look for your imaginary Cauldron, but don’t think I’ll play Merlin’s game by persecuting Christians.’

‘Merlin,’ I said defensively, ‘will leave the fate of the Christians to the Gods.’

‘And what are we but the Gods’ implements?’ Arthur asked. ‘But I won’t fight other Britons just because they worship another God. Nor will you, Derfel, so long as you’re oath-sworn.’

‘No, Lord.’

He sighed. ‘I do hate all this rancour about Gods. But then, Guinevere always tells me I am blind to the Gods. She says it’s my one fault.’ He smiled. ‘If you’re sworn to Merlin, Derfel, then you must go with him. Where will he take you?’

‘To Ynys Mon, Lord.’

He stared at me in silence for a few heartbeats, then shuddered.

‘You go to Lleyn?’ he asked incredulously. ‘No one comes alive from Lleyn.’

‘I shall,’ I boasted.

‘Make sure you do, Derfel, make sure you do.’ He sounded gloomy. ‘I need you to help me beat the Saxons. And after that, maybe, you can return to Dumnonia. Guinevere isn’t a woman to hold grudges.’ I doubted that, but said nothing. ‘So I shall summon you in the spring,’ Arthur went on, ‘and pray you survive Lleyn.’ He put an arm through mine and walked me back towards the house. ‘And if anyone asks you, Derfel, then I have just reproved you angrily. I have cursed you, even struck you.’

I laughed. ‘I forgive you the blow, Lord.’

‘Consider yourself reproved,’ he said, ‘and consider yourself,’ he went on, ‘the second luckiest man in Britain.’

The luckiest in the world, I thought, for I had my soul’s desire.

Or I would have it, the Gods preserve us, when Merlin had his.

I stood and watched the spearmen go. Arthur’s banner of the bear showed briefly in the trees, he waved, hoisted himself onto his horse’s back and then was gone.

And we were alone.

So I was not in Dumnonia to see Arthur’s return. I should have liked that, for he rode back a hero to a country that had dismissed his chances of survival and had plotted to replace him by lesser creatures. Food was scarce that autumn, for the sudden flare of war had depleted the new harvest, but there was no famine and Arthur’s men collected fair taxes. That sounds like a small improvement, but after the recent years it caused a stir in the land. Only the rich paid taxes to the Royal Treasury. Some paid in gold, but most paid in grain and leather and linen and salt and wool and dried fish that they, in turn, had demanded from their tenants. In the last few years the rich had paid little to the King and the poor had paid much to the rich, so Arthur sent spearmen to inquire of the poor what tax had been levied of them and used their answers to make his own levy of the rich. From the proceeds he returned a third of the yield back to the churches and magistrates so that they could distribute the food in the winter. That action alone told Dumnonia that a new power had come to the land, and though the wealthy grumbled, none dared raise a shield-wall to tight Arthur. He was the warlord of Mordred’s kingdom, the victor of Lugg Vale, the slaughterer of Kings, and those who opposed him now feared him. Mordred was moved into the care of Culhwch, Arthur’s cousin and a crude, honest warrior who probably took small interest in the fate of a small and troublesome child. Culhwch was too busy suppressing the revolt that had been started by Cadwy of Isca deep in Dumnonia’s west, and I heard that he led his spears in a swift campaign across the great moor, then south into the wild land on the coast. He ravaged Cadwy’s heartland, then stormed the rebellious Prince in the old Roman stronghold of Isca. The walls had decayed and the veterans of Lugg Vale swarmed over the town’s ramparts to hunt the rebels through the streets. Prince Cadwy was caught in a Roman shrine and there dismembered. Arthur ordered parts of his body to be displayed in Dumnonia’s towns, and his head, with its easily recognizable blue tattoos on the cheeks, to be sent to King Mark of Kernow who had encouraged the revolt. King Mark sent back a tribute of tin ingots, a tub of smoked fish, three polished turtle shells that had washed up on the shores of his wild country and an innocent disavowal of any complicity in Cadwy’s rebellion. Culhwch, in capturing Cadwy’s stronghold, found letters there that he sent to Arthur. The letters were from the Christian party in Dumnonia and had been written before the campaign that ended in Lugg Vale, and they revealed the full extent of the plans to rid Dumnonia of Arthur. The Christians had disliked Arthur ever since he had revoked High King Uther’s rule that the church was to be exempt from taxes and loans, and they had become convinced that their God was leading Arthur to a great defeat at Gorfyddyd’s hands. It was the prospect of that almost certain defeat that had encouraged them to put their thoughts into writing, and those same writings were now in Arthur’s keeping. The letters revealed a worried Christian community who wanted Arthur’s death, but also feared the incursion of Gorfyddyd’s pagan spearmen. To save themselves and their riches they had been ready to sacrifice Mordred, and the letters encouraged Cadwy to march on Durnovaria during Arthur’s absence, kill.Mordred and then yield the kingdom to Gorfyddyd. The Christians promised him help, and hoped that Cadwy’s spears would protect them once Gorfyddyd ruled.